


Trying to reach heaven or, climbing up from hell.

by EmeraldFox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Chamber of Secrets AU, F/M, Gender Confusion, Horcruxes, M/M, Magic, Parseltongue, Romance In Later Chapters, Soul Magic, lots of magic, reader is required not to care much about gender, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldFox/pseuds/EmeraldFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chamber of Secrets AU.</p>
<p>Soul magic is powerful and mysterious, and drifting souls untethered have a habit of latching on the living. The Horcrux left deep gouges in the Ginny Weasley’s soul, and something made its home there, patching and filling them up.<br/>The person who wakes up is not quite Ginny anymore.</p>
<p>Harry killed for the Third time, and it changed him. Killing someone leaves a mark, and it forms a connection, especially if the one you killed is still alive.</p>
<p>Soul magic is based on Actions and Intent, and the consequences are usually unpredictable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She woke up slowly, gradually, feeling like her head was stuffed with cotton. She opened her eyes with a vague sense of confusion, encountering whiteness. **He felt wariness, trying to force his sluggish thoughts to cooperate.**

**What happened to him? He felt uneasy.** The longer she peered around her, the more she was frightened. White, white, white. **It was a colour of danger, a colour that exposes, that reveals. There was nothing around him that could deflect attention, nothing to help him regain his bearings.**

She heard a sound, muffled by the white drapes surrounding her, then footsteps. A hand took hold of the cloth and pulled it aside. It took her a moment to recognise the person stepping through.

“Miss Weasley! You are finally awake, how do you feel?” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey.

“Ah… slow, weird. Not myself.” She blinked blearily. “What…?”

“It’s all right, be calm. Let’s try something simple. Can you tell me your name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came to mind. **He felt frustration when it became obvious he couldn’t remember. He knew names, names were something that frustrated him, made him angry, made him wistful, made him want things he didn’t have.** Names have power, and without it she was powerless.

“I…”

“I imagine you are confused, here, let’s try this.” The Mediwitch reached into her robes and pulled out a wand. With a flick aimed beyond the curtains, she summoned to her a vial of potion.

The girl froze at the sight of a wand. **A saviour, a tool, a weapon, power.**

“Where is my wand?” she asked in a rush.

Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow at the abrupt inquiry and then reached in a bedside table drawer to pull out the wand. As soon as it was offered to the girl, she snatched it up and hugged it close to her body. She felt some of the tension leave her.

“I see.” Smiled the Mediwitch. “I suppose such comfort may help, you were through a lot. However, no magic until your core stabilises, young lady, and that is an order. No magic at all, or you could seriously stretch your recovery time.”

**He realised then the cause for the grogginess, confusion and weakness inside him must be the consequence of a magical accident. Quite a traumatic one at that, he mussed, his eyes unfocusing as he started to pay more attention to his magic. It was unsettled and stretched thin, uneven and elusive. What was he doing to get a core in a state like this?**

“Miss Weasley?”

**The concerned question brought him out of his observations and he nodded.**

“No magic, yes, of course.”

“Hm, well, drink the potion now, it should help with the head, get those thoughts straight. Then we should get some food and water into you, to get your body on the path of recovery. You are too thin.”

She heard her leaving with an empty vial, but her mind was caught on the words ‘too thin’. Her mother said that, she realised. I have a mother, and a father, and brothers, and they are all loud and happy and…

_‘Here Ginny, have some more mashed potatoes, you are way too thin! You must still be hungry!’_

But she knew **hunger. It twisted your insides, made you desperate, made you look around for anything edible to consume. Anything.**

**He remembered a dark, hungry place, where there were no mothers or fathers. Where everyone distrusted him and he distrusted everyone else. Where the last bite in the bowl was his after he learned how to make the others forget to reach for it. It wasn’t much, and it** magic **didn’t last for long, but a bite more a day helped. If you want something, you have to take it for yourself, because no one else will just give it to you.**

_‘Here, Ginny, do you want the last chicken wing? Take it, I don’t want you going hungry. But leave a spot in your belly, will you? I made cherry pie, just for you, I know it is your favourite. Eat up!’_

She was interrupted in her memories about her mother by a returning Madam Pomfrey.

“You are all pale! Here, drink this, best have some sugar in your blood.”

She was offered a big glass of pumpkin juice, which she took gratefully to buy herself time and get her bearings. She didn’t understand her own thoughts and it scared her, because they were differing from ‘normal’ **but still his, just that they were buzzing around, switching tracks.**

**He knew who he was now, but there was no one answer, and he realised there shouldn’t be more than one. What kind of accident did he have, to cause such confusion. It felt like he gained something, but couldn’t put a finger on it. Nothing felt out of place, but he knew that it should.**

She didn’t quite want to ask the Mediwitch, didn’t dare. Didn’t want her **suspicious** , didn’t want to appear vulnerable.

Finishing her juice, she looked hopefully for more. She certainly felt better, more solid. She got a bowl of vegetable soup with instruction to sip it slowly and not bother with utensils. Ginny did just that and observed the Mediwitch opening the curtains and letting the light reach her bed. She got a view on a row of windows and the grounds beyond the glass. It felt much better than the white walls surrounding her before. She liked nature, spending most of her life outside, running around with her brothers. It brought happy memories and it was a relief.

It appeared to be early evening and Madam Pomfrey was puttering around, disappearing inside her office then coming out again. After finishing with the soup, she shifted her attention on her wand. I was ‘her’ wand, but she expected it to look different. She had another wand, she remembered having it **for years. But then it was lost…?** She didn’t have it anymore. She **‘couldn’t’** have it anymore. This is her wand now, even if it didn’t feel as comfortable as the last one. **He knew his damaged core contributed to the weak and uneasy connection. He will just have to wait for the core to stabilise and master the wand through practice. It should be doable.**

**He figured he should start with easy spells,** like ones he started learning at the start of the year. **Wingardium leviosa seemed like an appropriate start, since there was not much that could go wrong if his magic or his wand decided to act out.** When her mind turned to other spells she learned this year, she found more and more blank spots, classes she didn’t remember attending or even skipping. It must be part of the problem, the accident she couldn’t remember. **He switched to the other first year, also spotty, but that due to age, not magic. Quite a few spells were added before his concentration broke because of a full bladder.**

**A call summoned the Mediwitch, who helped him stand up. It was necessary to rely on her help, as his legs were weak and shaky. With aid he managed to reach the lavatory, where he was left in privacy and with instruction to call if needing help.**

**Tired already, he supported himself on the wall with one hand, and reached with the other to open his trousers. As he looked down he choked in incomprehension. There was something down there that shouldn’t be. He was seeing a woman’s body! Well, a girl’s body!** Which was fine, being a girl, since she was a girl, but she should **have a cock. He always had a cock. Right?!**

**He suddenly felt lightheaded and sat down on the toilet. After black spots left his** **vision, he looked down on his lap.** It felt normal, sitting down like that, she has done it a thousand times. But she still felt the… equipment was wrong. **There should be a cock to pee with.**

**He really should clear this up. There was something really wrong with him. With his thoughts. They were… something.**

She was too tired for this right now.

She peed, feeling weird and uncomfortable wiping herself, then went to clean her hands to the sink. She looked at herself in the mirror, her red hair appearing lifeless, skin sickly pale and… she had dark eyes. Looking closer, they were greyish-brown so dark they could have been black. Her eyes were always brown and… **his eyes were dark.**

**He remembered looking in the mirror, black hair, pale skin and dark eyes.**

**Tom Riddle.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all people are born by their mothers. Some are born by acts of Power, reborn in an event that changes their very Being.   
> When magic is involved, these words are even truer.

**The next day he woke to the sound of voices. He recognised the one belonging to his mother right away, begging the matron to see her.** She wanted to see her family, too. She always went to them for comfort, for warm reassurance. She hasn’t seen her parents for a whole year, and she missed them terribly.

“Mom…? MOM!?” she cried, overcome with inexplicable grief. **He wanted a hug, he wanted to feel that warmth again, and it felt like missing something he never had. He sat up, stubborn despite the weakness of his body, and reached for the curtains.**

Her mother reached her in the next moment.

“Oh Ginny!” she sobbed, “Oh my little girl! I’m here now, hush, everything will be alright.”

She was enveloped in a strong hug, and it felt like she was being held together, as she broke apart and cried. Her father joined them, putting his arms over them both, and it felt so **overwhelming. He never felt like this before, he cried without knowing why, he cried out the sorrow without a cause. It poured out of him in big crushing waves of something dark and smothering. He couldn’t stop it, even after long minutes, when his parents’ comforting turned into cries for help.**

“Madam Pomfrey! Oh Merlin, come quickly, something is happening to her, something is wrong with my Ginny! Help her!” her mother cried.

Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks, splashing on her hands. They felt slimey and thick, like tar she used while painting wood for the roof of their house. They were still clear, but felt dirty, and she wiped her hands in her bedding.

**It felt like a spell was cast on him, he couldn’t stop himself, like his body was doing things he had no control over. No, it was more than that. He recalled reading about it. It felt like a forceful cleansing. He felt safe and loved in the embrace of her parents, and it triggered something.**

**If the accident he was in was traumatic and involved his emotions, thoughts or soul, it is quite possible that this was his body’s reaction to it. A naturally occurring cleansing ritual. Now that he knew what is happening to him,** she let go. It is best to let such things run their course, now that she is safe and the process is relatively painless.

“Ginny, here honey, drink this. It will make you feel better, come on, you are scaring me. Arthur, help me hold her up. Here, Ginny!”

She could barely see through her tear filled eyes, but it appeared to be a vial of some kind.

“Wha… what is it?” she hiccuped.

“It’s a Calming draught, Miss Weasley, it will calm you down. Best drink all of it, it should help.” encouraged the Mediwitch.

“No! No I shouldn’t!” **Rituals have a magic of their own and it was inadvisable to interrupt them with foreign magics.**

“Please, Ginny, listen to your mother. You will feel better.” Pleaded her father, his voice desperate.

“N-no, I should cry. It feels better now, it feels like I sh-should cry.” **He tried to explain. He figured his parents didn’t know much about rituals, but hoped they will heed his wishes.**

“Hmmm.” Mussed Madam Pomfrey. “Perhaps we should let her be. Sometimes after such trauma, patients know best how to help themselves. Let her cry, let her be upset, she has a lot to be upset about. Just keep watch over her. She should start feeling better, not worse, nor should her behaviour continue for longer periods of time. Will you be alright, Miss Weasley?”

“Y-yes. Just, give me a m-minute.” She was grateful. Her voice still shook, but the tremors were subsiding.

“Well, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, call for me if anything changes. I will come check on her in fifteen minutes. If she doesn’t calm down until then, I will give her the Calming draught.”

It took longer than fifteen minutes for her to really calm down, for her sorrow to abate and her tears stop. She felt exhausted, wrung out and wared thin, but much more… peaceful. With her mother carding fingers through her hair, **he took stock of his core, closing his eyes and concentrating. It felt more put together, not as stretched and pulled thin. It felt as if something was holding his magic apart before, but now that force was gone, and it could start to flow together.**

**He felt this was important, somehow. He shouldn’t forget it. Another side-effect of his accident, and it might be an important clue. He really should ask someone what happened to him.**

**He fell asleep in his mother’s lap.**

* * *

 

 

No one will tell her anything about what happened to her. They comforted her, assured her she was safe, even mentioned it was ‘not her fault’. It was irritating. **He didn’t know how to help himself if he didn’t know the particulars about the accident.**

**Still, he insisted on showering in privacy, let the water run down his whole body, washing away the dried tears. He traced the runes of healing with dopplets of water, over his forehead, over his heart, on his palms and lower back. He didn’t really use magic, spent as it was, but some of it still caught on the runes, causing rejuvenating pulses to spread over him.**

She paid as little attention as possible to her groin, focusing rather on her body as a whole. She didn’t want the weirdness of ‘that’ situation to intervene with her task.

Grooming herself felt odd as well. **It should feel familiar, since he did it often enough. He learned very young that outward appearance is important. Pretty, cute children where the only ones to get adopted in the orphanage. Beautiful, charismatic and hygienic people were always the ones to earn respect. Masses flocked to beauty, either by desire to be beautiful themselves, or refusing to consider following and respecting anyone less than themselves.**

She wasn’t used to looking at her body like that, a representation of herself that can be manipulated to her will to achieve an effect. This body has always been just… her body. She wanted to be pretty, of course, but that was mostly aimed at dresses in shops, displayed on dancing manikins. Dresses they could not afford.

Now, as she gazed in the mirror, assessing her features, she saw herself as beautiful. Red hair captured the eye, dark eyes added a bit of mystery to her face, freckles made her look innocent and naïve. **It was a good look, he thought, brushing his hair, mussing on the length of it. Useful. Even more striking than before.**

**Before.**

**His body, before, it was male. Beautiful, too, but male. It chilled him to think, about having a ‘before’ body.**

**Where did it go? What happened to it? Did his mother know about it? Did he change a body at some point? He was obviously still not used to it, particularly the ‘girlyness’ of it. He knew of some potions and even spells to alter a body. There were even some adoption and inheritance magics that altered the person, but he doubted his parents would do such a thing.**

Besides, that didn’t seem to be it. She will just have to wait for an opportune moment to get a satisfactory answer.

* * *

 

 

Fortunately, for her own piece of mind, she didn’t have to wait long. Her brother came to visit her, along with Harry Potter.

She knew Harry Potter, he was her hero, her childhood champion, and he…

**He defeated the strongest, most evil Dark Lord that ever lived. He heard his parents talking, about a war, and fear, and suffering. About her dead uncles. Harry helped them, saved them, from You Know Who. Percy said his name once.**

**Voldemort.**

“What happened?” she demanded. “What happened to me? I can’t remember, and no one will tell me, Ron, do you know what happened to me?”

**And he got it. A story.** A story of Basilisks, and pipes, and messages written in blood, and Professor Lockhart with Memory charm that backfired, how the tunnel collapsed, and Harry brought her back. Saved her.

**All the while, Harry kept looking away, through the windows, hands balled into fists until the knuckles turned white, his back hunched into itself.**

“Ron?” she interrupted him, just as he was describing the petrified students, who were apparently hidden behind the curtains of beds surrounding her.

“Can I talk to Harry? Alone? You can go check on Hermione in the meantime. There are things I want to ask him.”

Her brother appeared confused, reluctant and even a bit hurt, but she pleaded with her eyes and he relented. **Good.**

**It was just the two of them, then. He and his saviour.**

“What happened to me? And don’t, … don’t sugar-coat it. I want to ‘know’.”

Harry seemed uncomfortable, put in the spot he didn’t want to be in.

“I was the Diary’s fault. It… Right. Do you remember, when we were shopping for school supplies, before the school year? And Mr. Weasley had a fight with Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy put a book in your things, then. A Diary. And you wrote in it, and it… wrote back. I found the diary, somebody, well, you. You threw it in the toilet. I wrote to it too. It belonged to a boy named Tom Riddle.”

**He inhaled sharply, sudden ice grabbing his heart. His name?**

“What was the Diary?” **he needed to know.**

“Um, he said it contained his memories. He showed me one. How he accused Hagrid, who he went to school with, of opening the Chamber of Secrets. Or something like that, I learned some things afterwards. This was fifty years ago, when Tom went to school. But Dumbledore was always suspicious of him.”

“What happened to it after?” she nudged, after he faltered.

“Right. Hagrid didn’t do it. He had an Acromantula, but it wasn’t what kept attacking the students. It was a basilisk. The founder of Hogwarts, Salazar Slytherin, made a secret chamber under the school. The Chamber of Secrets. He hid a Basilisk inside, and his heir would be able to command it and use it to attack muggleborns. Tom Riddle was the heir fifty years ago, but never got caught. He even got a prize for accusing Hagrid, it’s still in the Trophy Room.

“Tom had a Diary and he put his memories and magic into it, so it will continue his work if it ever came back to Hogwarts. I don’t really know how Mr. Malfoy got it, but he gave it to you.”

**A book filled with memories. He remembered, he had a diary, it was protected, locked and cursed so no one could open it. He poured knowledge and experiences, emotions and dreams into it. It was him, the best and most honest him.**

“Ginny?” She motioned to him to go on.

“So, the more you wrote into it, the more magic you gave it. It, uhm, it started to possess you. It made you write messages on the walls. About the returning of the heir. And then it took you to the Chamber. We figured out, then, it was a Basilisk, and we went to the Chamber. I found you on the ground, and Tom stood over you. I wanted him to help me at first, then I found out he was the cause of all this. By killing you he could be alive again.”

**Horcrux. It was a Horcrux, a piece of a soul. Memories alone can’t steal other people’s life force. He remembered, finding out a safety net, a means to immortality. His most sacred possession. But a Horcrux made to open a Chamber of Secrets? That was absurd! Why would it even possess anyone? That was not its purpose. It was his source of immortality, meant to be protected and cherished. It was a part of his soul!**

“What happened to the Diary?!”

Harry was staring at her with wide eyes. **He knew he was being too intense, was acting odd, but he was desperate to know.**

“He told me he wasn’t just Tom Riddle, he was… Voldemort. That he was the one who wanted to kill me as a baby, who killed my parents. Then… then he called the basilisk, I fought it with a sword. I… called it by being a true Gryffindor, apparently. And I killed it. But I was hurt by its fang, and I was dying, and you were dying too, and I figured I would take him with me. So I stabbed the Diary with a fang, and he started screaming. Ink was pouring out of the book, so I stabbed it again. Then I… I don’t remember much after that. I was healed by Fawkes, the phoenix. When I checked up on you, you were breathing, so I brought you up. I…yeah. That was pretty much it.”

**His Horcrux was destroyed. His soul was destroyed. But, he didn’t understand. He didn’t remember making the Horcrux, just planning for it. He couldn’t remember anything after the supposed act of making the Horcrux.**

**He looked down to her hands.** Ginny’s hands. They started shaking.

**What happened to a Horcrux after it was killed? It wasn’t really killed, was it? He remembered having a male body, Tom Riddle’s body. Now he has Ginny Weasley’s body. Did the Horcrux, did he take over her body?** But she knew she was Ginny. She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t possessed.

She was Ginny and **he was Tom,** and She was Tom and **He was Ginny.**

I…

How has this happened?

**To get rid of a Horcrux, one must destroy it, thus destroy the soul in it, or feel total remorse, experience the suffering caused by making said Horcrux.**

**He** She did feel that, **he** she remembered. The sadness, the sorrow, the crushing fealing without cause. She **He felt it three days ago, in his** hers parents’ embrace.

**The Diary grew his roots into her very being, using her soul, her life, her magic, and when his soul was free, he went where he was still connected.**

**And now, he was not a Horcrux anymore. He was Ginny** and she was Tom.

**Soul magic is based on Actions and Intent, and the consequences can be unpredictable. The books warned him, cautioned that the smallest, most negligible differences or additions to the rituals concerning it can have far reaching effects.**

**What has he done?**

“Ginny?”

She **He** looked at Harry Potter, **his murderer.**

Her saviour.

**He** She looked away, **hiding her face behind a curtain of hair.**

“Can you leave me? I need to think. Thank you for your information.” **He tried to keep his tone soft,** but she feared it came out cold and clipped.

After a beat, **he** she felt him rise and hesitate by the curtains.

“Um, if you have any questions, you can always ask me. I promise to answer you truthfully, as best as I can. You deserve it. You should know. I would want to know. So… until later?”

She **He** didn’t give him a response, so he left soon after.

**He** She **needed to think.**

**He** She needed **to figure out** what all this meant for **him** her.

What does **he** she do now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV.  
> Harry learns that saving people leaves a Mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write. Harry is difficult. I will probably stick with Ginny/Tom POV for a while.

After leaving the Infirmary, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Harry. It was harder and harder to re-tell the whole story about what happened in The Chamber of Secrets. The Headmaster reassured him that everything is alright, that the school is safe now, that he did the right thing, a noble and Gryffindor thing.

But it didn’t feel that way down in the Chamber. There, he felt only helplessness, fear and the need to save Ginny. He was angry too, at Tom, at Voldemort, but he felt trapped in a corner. He felt out of his depth about the situation he found himself it, and he felt helpless in every action he took. He was relieved at the beginning, seeing Tom above Ginny’s prone form, relieved someone will help him and be a reliable ally in a crisis. The truth was disappointing, another sliver of trust crushed. Only the thought of Dumbledore’s thoughtfulness and faith in him kept him afloat. But still, the whole adventure was mentally and physically exhausting. Every time he remembered, every time he had to tell the story _again_ , he felt more out of his depth about the whole situation.

He just wished to forget.

Telling Ginny was the hardest, even harder than telling her parents. He was upset that she couldn’t even remember what happened, that he maybe did something wrong, that something in her is permanently damaged. She looked so pale at the end, as pale a when he and Ron dragged her unconscious body to the Hospital wing.

He hoped she will be alright.

 

* * *

 

 Next time he saw Ginny Weasley was the following day at dinner. She was led to their table by the Twins, who hovered over her protectively. She gave him a brief nod before her attention was switched to Ron, who began asking her about her visit to the Headmaster.

“Headmaster Dumbledore assured me that no fault rests on my shoulders. I won’t be punished. I will stay in the Infirmary for the next few days, and take the Hogwarts Express back home at the end of the year.” She spoke quietly, looking down on the plate only sparsely laden with food.

“This is great then, right? I mean…” said Ron uncertainly. One of the Twins slapped him on the back of the head.

“Ron is right,” said the other.

“Even if he said it in a stupid way, never mind him.”

“Oi!” squawked his friend at his brothers’ teasing.

The rest of the meal passed relatively calmly, aside from Hermione’s moaning about the canceled exams. Even Ginny seemed to lighten up and start asking questions about the state of the school. She asked Hermione if she was alright after being Petrified, what happened to Lockhart, what the Professors were saying about the incident. She seemed especially curious about Ron’s gleeful comments concerning Mr. Malfoys sacking as a school Governor.

By the end of the meal, a flame of curiosity sparkled inside Harry. Ginny was different, and he could finally put a finger on it. She was still very quiet, but she wasn’t shy. He until now considered Ron’s sister a shy and nervous girl that wouldn’t look him in the eye; she wasn’t anymore. She somehow seemed stronger, more alert than he’s ever seen her.

 

* * *

 

 The next few days at Hogwarts were better for Harry, as all distrustful looks from the student population diminished to almost nothing, except a few poisonous glares from Draco Malfoy. However, he appeared to have gained a stalker. It was Ginny. He often saw her studying him from the corner of his eye, and when he turned to look at her she never broke their eye contact or dropped her gaze. It would be unnerving if she didn’t seem so… _confident_ about it.

The others noticed their silent interaction and they both receives some gentle ribbing from her older brothers. Harry always flushed red when it happened, but it didn’t seem to bother Ginny. It seemed like nothing would come from the staring, as she never talked to him or did anything suspicious.

But it all came to head the day before it was time to leave Hogwarts for the summer. It was raining and everyone opted to stay indoors, Harry and his friends cozying before the Common room fireplace. She entered the room through the Portrait, appeared to be dithering for a while, then straightened her back and approached them with her head held high.

“Umm, Ginny?” Prompted Ron, confusedly. “What’s up?”

Ginny didn’t appear to pay him much mind. She positioned herself directly before Harry’s armchair and pinned him with a grave and important looking gaze.

“I, Ginevra Weasley, fully acknowledge and comprehend a Life Debt owed to my saviour, Harry James Potter. Death was spared me and Debt must be repaid. I take this burden upon my shoulders, as is my right and my duty by Magic itself. Do you accept?”

Harry had trouble breathing. The magic was heavy in the air, something solemn and serious. He never felt magic quite like this before.

“What is a Life De…,” Hermione interrupted the moment. Before she could finish, Ron scrambled to put his palm over her mouth, silencing her. A hush fell over the room.

“Do you accept the Debt, Harry Potter?” Repeated the redhead girl.

Harry felt discomforted. All attention was on him again, waiting for something he could not give. He didn’t even know what this all was about!

“I, uh… I don’t understand. You don’t need to owe me anything, I didn’t save you for that. It was the right thing to do.” He stammered.

“And I appreciate that. However, my Debt to you still stands. By wizarding tradition to refuse or deny a Life Debt marks the life saved worthless. That saving my life was a small and inconsequential thing or I am too pitiful to ever be able to repay you. It would bring shame to my name.” The girl’s expression was closed off and somehow serene at the same time as she explained that, all the while her words filled Harry with cold horror.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Of course your life matters! I wanted to save you, I went to the Chamber of Secrets _because_ of you! I…” He choked.

“And I thank you for that. Do you accept my Debt to you?” The corners of her mouth turned up, as if she was fighting a smile. Or a smirk.

Harry couldn’t really comprehend why there was such a big ceremony required instead of a simple thanks between friends. But there were many things he didn’t know about the wizarding world, and in usually turned out that going with the flow of things was the best course of action. He nodded, accepting Ginny’s words as something wizards did and were used to.

“I accept your Debt, Ginny.” He tried. She seemed satisfied with his wording.

“My Debt is witnessed and sealed. So mote it be!”

“So mote it be.” Murmured some of the bystanders, while others seemed baffled by the proceedings.

Prompted by the encouraging rise of Ginny’s eyebrows he repeated.

“So mote it be.”

 

* * *

 

 The word spread like wildfire. What were before only rumours, about the Chamber of Secrets, the monster within and the people involved, was now a well known fact. Theories were still as outlandish as before, but something was certain. Harry had saved Ginny Weasley’s life.

After everyone calmed down enough to listen to him, Harry finally got to ask about Life Debts. It turned out that neither Ron nor Hermione knew much about them. Bafflingly, his ginger friend knew the most. One of the important things to know was to never interrupt the acknowledging of the Debt, which made Hermione turn red in embarrassment. The only ones allowed to speak were the Saviour and the Saved, and optionally the guardians of the saved person, if that person was underage or unable to carry the burden themselves. In that case, the guardian would be taking the Debt onto their own shoulders. What exactly a Debt was, no one could really tell. In times of Old, it would be a life for a life. But nowadays, the repayment could be anything, as long as it is beneficial to the Saviour, even if the vagueness made it harder to satisfy the bond.

His bookish friend went to the library for the last bout of research on the subject, before she was forced to abandon it to attend the Feast.

Harry lay in bed awake long after all the other boys fell asleep. Ginny unsettled him. Every time he thought about their exchange in the Common room, thought about the Life Debt, he felt something, a tug just beneath his heart. He felt like there really was a real _bond_ between them, something tangible and heavy. He wondered if Ginny felt it too and what would she have to do for it to go away. He didn’t know what kind of repayment would be needed. He didn’t really want anything. Or rather, what he wanted Ginny couldn’t give him. No one could.

With a heavy heart, he went to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny/Tom is reborn into a new person, under the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone was guessing how to call Ginny/Tom, from Tinny to Timevra. It was great! I couldn’t wait for this part of the story.  
> And thank you so much for your support, with kudos and comments! It helps my writing and keeps me going!

She gazed through the window of Hogwarts Express, observing the countryside flashing by. She shared the compartment with her brothers George, Fred and Ron, as well as Harry and Hermione. Tension hung above them as a heavy cloud, being the consequence of her actions from the previous day, and it led to stilted conversations. **He didn’t bother to defend himself overly much, no matter how annoying people’s nagging got. Percy was the worst and after he blabbed their mother he won’t know peace for quite some time.**

**But it had to be done. Acknowledging the Life Debt was the most efficient and beneficial action he could take. In one fell swoop it gained him so many perks; it cleared him of any suspicion regarding the opening of the Chamber, gained him fame for owing Harry Potter a Debt, highlighted his deference to the Old ways and wizarding traditions as well as his pureblood pride, made interaction and friendship with Harry a necessity, and soothed the magic within himself. He came a long way in the last few days, but the duality of his magic and personality was getting harmfull. It wasn’t really the Life Debt he owed Harry, tainted as it was with murder of his parents and targeting him as a baby. But with the careful application of the Old ways he _changed_ that. All their history, or rather Tom Riddle’s future, he gathered together, and with Ginny’s rescue he was able to change it into a Debt owed. It would scrub him** her **raw of all the blame and responsibility, leaving him a relatively clean slate. It came with a price, but it was a price worth paying.**

She didn’t want such burden on her conscience. She didn’t want to be a murderer who attacked children, she didn’t want to be her childhood’s boogeyman, she **he** didn’t want to be Voldemort.

**Voldemort failed, was killed by a child, leaving behind a dark and hated legacy. He wasn’t revered, hailed as a god among men, he was instead a blight in wizarding history, a _failure_ too feared to be even spoken of.**

She read all about **his future self** in the library, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

**He will not be _that_! He will only be _the best_!**

 

* * *

 

The Burrow was as she remembered it, with a doting and slightly overbearing mother, permissive father and a whole gaggle of brothers always underfoot. The house was comfortable and homey, bursting at the seams but every room holding happy memories and familiar scents and sounds. It was so cozy, as if from a fantasy **he sometimes, when feeling particularly naively wistful, entertained as a child.**

As days progressed, it happened more and more often. The sudden feeling of misplacement, of being **a stranger, an outsider in a house not his own.** She would flinch when it happened, when hearing an unexpected sound, being confronted with unfamiliar sight. The nightmares were the worst, dual memories interwoven together, **forming something grotesque. They trapped him in his body and he often awoke unable to move, unable to _scream_.** It always took a while for her memories to settle enough for **him** her **to remember who** she **he** was. Every day, she saw the concerned faces of her family, helpless and unable to _fix_ her.

**He buried himself in books at first, as a distraction, going through the first year material, then the second with books borrowed from Ron. It diminished his parents’ concern not at all. He knew books won’t be of any help. Information needed to give him the answer wasn’t in any tome at the Burrow. A ritual might help, but he was out of useful ideas. A Cleansing and a Debt were only good for soothing the symptoms of his condition, his fluctuating magic and a taint on his soul. The Duality in his soul was a harder dragon egg to crack.**

**More and more he riffled through his memory, but nothing useful came to mind. In the end he figured he would have to _invent_ a ritual suiting his needs. That brought along several problems. Rituals were prone to spectacular failures when done incorrectly and were not known for subtlety.** They were usually loud or emotionally charged or colourful, and one could ordinarily feel the magic gathered and released. She wasn’t used to hide and lie to her parents, and she would probably be caught anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Mum?” She instigated quietly. “Mum, I want to celebrate Summer Solstice.”

“Ginny, what on earth? A solstice?” Exclaimed Molly, turning away from the cooking cauldron.

“Yes, like the stories you told me about. About the gatherings your family participated in? The Holy Days?”

“Why would you…? We never did anything like that, what gave you such an idea?! Ginny, you worry me.”

Her mum gently took hold of her hands and steered her towards the table, motioning her to sit.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Ginny! We, your father and I, we asked the healers, but even they don’t know what to do. They said you should be fine. You are _not_ fine!” She sobbed.

“Mum, mum! That’s why I want to do the Solstice celebration! It’s the longest day of the year, full of light and sun and happiness. Haven’t you always said that? I think I need that, mum. Can you help me? Please?” She pleaded.

“The Old ways, they are different, sweety. They are wilder. It’s not at all what you are used to. Not like casting spells with your wand. It can be pretty frightening. We don’t want to make it worse…” Molly took ahold of her hand again, warming her cold fingers between her larger palms.

“I want to try, mum. I… I was under control of somebody else. I need to take that control back. I won’t make it on my own, I need some help. But not… not other people. I want to do it myself. You see?” **He tried to explain.**

**He was possessed by the Horcrux, and the Horcrux was trapped in a diary by numerous spells and bindings to serve its purpose. Not a free existence, either of them. And he** she **valued _freedom_ above all else.**

“This is more complicated than that, sweetheart. The Holy rituals… you don’t just _do_ them. You have to prepare. And it’s already the 23st, the solstice is over.” Said her mum.

“Doesn’t it take a week? We have three more days. Mum, _please_!”

Molly sighed, suddenly appearing so tired and old, and Ginny remembered that she wasn’t a young woman anymore.

“All right, Ginny, all right. Let… let me think about it. Maybe I remember something useful.”

She couldn’t help it, she stood and jumped into her mother’s embrace, overcome with gratitude. She couldn’t remember the last time **he** embraced **anyone, it felt like he never did. It woke something possessive inside him and he held on even tighter.**

 

* * *

 

Her family was baffled, she could tell. They never performed rituals, never really practised the old ways, and only ever saw them performed at Prewett family gatherings. Her mother soothed their confusion, and they spent that day and the next in preparation for the ritual.

Molly gathered the herbs, some growing in their garden, some in a forest close by. She also gathered oak wood, for power, magic and grounding. **Meanwhile, he took a stroll around their house and the surrounding countryside, searching for a perfect place. He got some suggestions from his mother, about how to pick a place and how it must look like. But he wasn’t interested in nice meadows or warm ponds. No. He searched for a creek, somewhere the water will run fast enough to serve as cleansing, but shallow enough he wouldn’t drown in it.**

**He found it. Judging by its bank it used to be deeper, but summer dried it out enough to be comfortable to lie in.**

**His mother told the rest of the family what was going to occur, and by the look of it not all were comfortable with it. His father refused to participate, citing his lack of experience in old magic might have a negative effect. Percy seemed equally uncomfortable, but agreed to join if his presence will help. Fred and George, on the other hand, were enthusiastic. They always did love magic in all its forms. Ron didn’t really seem to have an opinion one way or the other and that made Molly recommend he stay with their father. Rituals generally didn’t favour indecisiveness.**

There was another thing on **his** her mind, **their** _name_. Because they were _one_ , but they were _two_ a well. Except, not really. Because **he** she had two sets of memories, **but one mind to recall them.** It was the memories that coloured the mind, that changed the person thinking them. Even if **he** she was one person, **memories had two different names for** her **him.**

_**And names have power.** _

**He** she thought long and hard about it, about a **name worthy of him**. She loved the name her parents gave her, and the surname of her line. **He hated his name, on the other hand, muggle and mundane as it was. He was at the same time proud of his ancestry, the all powerful Slytherin line, proud and magical.**

Ginny Molly Weasley

**Tom Marvolo Riddle**

**If** she **he** **could pick a name, any name, what would it be?** **He did it once before, when he became Lord Voldemort, but it was a name based on fear, made of fear, to inspire fear.** And she didn’t want for her family to fear her. She loved them.

What name would it be?

Ginevra, for her family, a variant for Guinevere, meaning white shadow, white wave. **A good, strong name.** A name for a queen.

**Tory, a unisex name, with the first two letters of Tom, shortened from victory, and a nod to a political party his followers most vehemently advocated.**

Weasley, for her pureblood line.

**And Slytherin, for power over his former - _future_ \- self. Voldemort never did manage to _own_ the name. He** she **_will._**

 

* * *

 

It was night when a group of five made their way to the creek. Barefoot, lighting their way with torches, they were dressed in simple white robes, made the day before from old linens. On the site, everything was prepared. They made two small bonfires, one on each side of the creek, using oak branches and herbs, then surrounded them with flowers. On top of each, the _future Ginevra_ put a scroll, carefully bound with her hair. She prepared it in private, under the light of the moon. In one, **he wrote the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, crossed it over, then wrote his new name above it.** In the other, she gave away her name Ginny Molly Weasley, in the same fashion. At sunrise, **they will burn** , and **he** she will be reborn on a new day.

The dawn was almost upon them, so she made her way into the water. It was cold around her ankles, but the budding magic already started affecting her. She will be fine. **Determined, he lowered himself into the water untoil he was lying under the waking sky.**

**At** her **his nod, his mother started.**

“On this night we gathered, in love for our daughter and sister, to heal, to mend what was broken. To chase away the sorrow, to chase away the nightmares, to disperse the shadows in her mind and soul. Great sun, giver of life, aid us on our noble quest!”

She flung her hands wide, and her brothers followed, facing east, where the first sun rays peaked over the hilltop.

“Twins, two who are one, light the fires, give us light!”

Her brothers went to lit the bonfires with their torches. They moved in sync, as only twins could, and the wood caught fire at the same time. Orange flames lept towards the sky, devouring the herbs, and soon the parchment. She **he felt warm now, then hot, and soon it was hard to think as the smoke made its way into** her **his lungs.** All that **he** she was, was taken away by water running over her **his** body. All was erased, nothing existed, nothing mattered. Only a name remained, anchored by the fire and the rising sun.

Ginevra **Tory** Weasley **Slytherin** , she **he** whispered, as if uttering a secret. The fires lept, immensely bright. She saw people around her **him** , looking at her **him** , opening their mouths as if speaking. She didn’t hear a thing over the roaring in his ears.

Ginevra Tory Weasley Slytherin

.

.

.

When she came to, it was to a feeling of a hand in hers, anchoring her. It pulled her up, out of the water, and she heard a voice.

“Wake up, sister, into a new day.”

She opened her eyes. It was Percy, her brother, _older and smart and a sticker to the rules_. He grabbed her under her knees and hoisted her up, out of the water. She saw the rest of her family there, her mother _cooking and cleaning and care and warmth,_ and her brothers Fred and George with _mischief and pranks and protectiveness and life._

“Who am I?” She asked, needing the confirmation, the closure.

“You are Ginevra Weasley,” they answered, all at once. And it was true, this is what she was to them. _For_ them. Her new family.

“So mote it be.” She affirmed.

“So mote it be!” They echoed back, smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking this long to update.  
> Is anyone interested in becoming a BETA for my Harry Potter works? I would love to have someone to bounce my ideas off on, as well.  
> Thanks!

Two days later found Ginevra in the garden before her house, picking fresh vegetables. Wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, she looked over to her brothers, who were trying to replace some tiles on the chicken coop’s roof. She chuckled as the overprotective old rooster clumsily flied up to them and started pecking George.

“Gerroff!” yelled Fred, threatening the animal with his hammer. “Oi, shoo!”

Ron was laughing so hard he almost fell of the ladder, shaking and pointing. It was quite a commotion.

It was nice. Peaceful. She never felt quite this way before. Or rather, the Tom he was before didn’t have memories like this. Even so, it felt to her that life finally returned in some semblance of normal. The ritual helped, it really did. Her family could feel it too, the lightness in her, the absence of nightmares, her name. They all called her Ginevra now, affected by the magic which showed them how to help. How to heal her.

It still lurked inside her, though. The Tory Slytherin she couldn’t be around her family. That name gathered the darkest in her, it contained her knowledge of riskier magic, her manipulative nature, her secrets and ambitions. But that was alright. All people had a part they don’t show to just anyone.

She smiled and turned her face towards the sun. Her bright saviour. She liked her life now, liked how colourful it was, at odds with the life of the boy he was before. A freer life.

 

* * *

 

Ginevra and her mother were making dinner, with mutinous help from Ron, who was peeling apples for a pie, when they heard a commotion. On the wall, the family clock changed, signaling that their father was home.

“Molly! Oh goodness, Molly!” they heard him yelling through the house. “Children! You’ll never believe what happened!”

The next few moments were filled with crashes and running of her four brothers, who skidded towards the door. The three of them in the kitchen weren’t far behind, curious at the fuss. There stood father, all ruffled, eyes shocked and large in his head. He was waving a parchment in his fist.

“Well, what is it, Arthur? You look as if a horde of dragons were chasing you!” cried her mother.

“Dragons? Ha! Galleons! We won Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw! Seven hundred Galleons, Molly!”

What followed was nothing short of a celebration, with everyone contributing their ideas on how the money should be spent. Ginevra mostly heard the twins, as they were right beside her, yelling about needing new dungbombs and brooms and elephants of all outrageous things. For fun, she joined them, egging them on and getting toothy smiled in return.

Soon after they were shooed out of the house for causing such a stir.

It took another few days before they heard the news. They were going to Egypt! Ginevra felt excited, she always wanted to travel the world, to study foreign magics. Every summer before he was a prisoner in the orphanage, longing for freedom. All his Slytherin schoolmates had summer houses in the country or across the border. It was an unattainable dream he longed for, and was determined to make a reality.

She will make the best of the opportunity.

 

* * *

 

“I want to go, I promised him I would call. Come on, Mum!” she heard Ron whine.

“What is going on?” she asked when she saw the her brother and their mum having a discussion in the kitchen.

“Ron wants to go to the village and use the _pelethone_ to contact young Harry.” She turned back to Ron. “But do you even know how to use this muggle contraption? You best wait for your father, he can help you.”

“But that’s hours from now!” exclaimed her brother.

“I can go with him,” volunteered Ginevra. “I remember Dad explaining how the telephone works.” She didn’t, not really, but her dual memories were more than helpful and she was confident she can call Potter.

“Great! Can we, Mum?”

“Oh, alright. Off you go.” sighed their mother.

They grinned at each other and ran towards the door.

Finding the telephone booth took some time, as they never paid it much attention while visiting the village before. Once there, Ron passed her the piece of parchment containing the digits, and some muggle coins.

Ginevra managed to make the call on her second try.

“Hello?” they heard after listening to the sound of ringing for some time.

“HARRY? DO YOU HEAR US?” yelled Ron, startling her into hitting him with her elbow.

“Ron! Shut up!” she hissed at him. “Harry? Sorry about that, Ron is an idiot. Can you talk or are we bothering you during something important?”

“Oh, hey Gin…” he coughed, his voice sounding strangled, “hey Ginevra, hey Ron. No, don’t worry, I’m alone in the house, I can talk. I hoped you’d manage to call.”

Ginevra smiled, feeling self satisfied at the proof her ritual worked.

“Great! You won’t believe it, mate. We’re going to Egypt! Dad won…”

Ginevra tuned out Ron’s excited chatter, thinking. As far as she understood, Harry Potter didn’t have overly happy home life, living with muggles and whatnot. He also knew next to nothing about the wizarding world. She knew it might be the Debt talking, but she felt personally insulted on his behalf. He was one of the most famous wizards of their time, and people let him remain an ignorant half-muggle peasant with no pride in his deeds. It wasn’t right!

She heard Harry complaining about a pending visit of his muggle not-aunt, and in a fit of inspiration she snatched the phone from Ron’s hand.

“Harry. How much money do you have in your vault? We might not be able to pay for you, but if you have enough money, you can come with us to Egypt. I don’t see our parents protesting, especially if you have strained relationship with this relative of yours. What do you say?”

There was silence on the other side.

“Oh. You… you would do that? Could I?” came a tentative reply.

“I don’t see why not. You are a wizard. The wizarding world should always be open to you. I’ll tell my parents and we’ll send you an owl with all the information you’ll need. Dad reserved an international portkey for us at the Ministry. We might as well meet there.” She could feel how thrown Harry was, so she gave the _talkpiece_ back to stupidly blinking Ron.

“Well? Convince him to come. I just gave you the opportunity to have a friend over for the summer. Aren’t you pleased?” she grinned.

After a tick, her brother started grinning back.

How easy he was to manipulate on her side, she thought with fond amusement.

 

* * *

 

The rest of preparations for the trip went smoothly. Her brothers jumped on the opportunity to have another friend with them on the trip, and their parents folded quickly after.

On July 15th, all Weasleys gathered before the row of fireplaces in the Ministry, waiting for Harry to arrive from the Leaky Cauldron. They didn’t have to wait long before the green flames leapt high and spat out a soot covered boy and his trunk. The twins quickly stepped up to him and helped him on his feet. Harry wavered, looking mildly green himself, before composing himself and waving at them all shyly.

Ginevra watched from the sidelines while her family welcomed him into their midsts, feeling accomplished. She could see the _possibilities_ opening before her, ripe for the taking.

She couldn’t wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Egypt appreciation! I loved Egypt, I went there 8 years ago. I made it a bit more magical here, because I can.   
> Still looking for a beta, or you can ask me questions on tumblr iamemeraldfox. I'd love to talk to you!

The first thing he felt, after the awful spinning and jerking around, was heat. It wasn’t the heat of a hot summer day, the heat that had his shirt sticking to his skin, the air catching in his lungs, heavy and moist. This heat was pleasant, as if he was standing before a fireplace, and feeling fire dancing, on his face.

He spent the last days in bewildered happiness. The invitation soothed the broken fear inside him, the fear of his family, and the defeat he felt at being stuck in a such miserable place for the summer. The Weasleys always made him feel better, a helping hand in the darkness. He still didn’t know quite how to feel about Ginevra, but thankfulness won over any other suspicions he might have. It was as if she understood he needed saving. Was that the consequence of the Debt?

Looking around him, he saw that they landed in a specious room with high ceilings, and made almost entirely of white marble.

“Bill!” he heard Mrs. Weasley cry out happily. A tall redhead made his way towards them and was quickly swept into a group hug.

It turned out they landed in the Department of External Affairs, a colossal white building containing everything from International Floo Station to Gringotts Bank Branch. Harry followed the gaggle of gingers out of the building and into the sunny Kairo outside. The streets, surprisingly, were almost empty, and the only people they could see were hiding in shades or looking out of windows. Harry saw an ancient looking man in long and light white robe sitting in the doorway of what appeared to be a pottery shop, smoking an odd looking pipe, connected to a vase at his feet.

“Shisha,” commented Bill when he saw his look. “Everyone here smokes shisha. It’s midday, so everyone is resting now. The streets come alive in the evening hours and all the shops and bars stay open almost all night.”

They were stationed in a colourful hotel. There were rugs everywhere, on the ground, hanging on the walls. Instead of chairs they were sat on pillows and brought strong red tea. Harry drank in the sounds and smells of the place. Everything was so magical here! A man with skin the colour of bronze and wearing deep purple made his way past them, and on his shoulder sat a wooden bird, its feathers accented with gold. Right before they disappeared around the corner, Harry saw it move as if it became alive. Music could be heard from somewhere outside, and it was nothing like he ever encountered before.

After tea, they were escorted further into the house, and the open arches gave way to an internal garden. A blue fountain stood at the center, surrounded by exsotic greenery, and Harry could see big, royal looking black cats stretching in the sun.

The bedrooms were just as impressive. He shared his with Ron and the Twins, while Mr. Weasley, Bill, Percy and Charlie took the one next to it. Mrs. Weasley and Ginevra were to sleep on the other side of the hotel, in a wing designated just for women.

That night, they joined the party happening by the fountain. All hotel residents gathered there, from egyptians to guests from distant lands. The owners once again sat them on cushions, and the low tables before them were laden with food and drink. Red, amber and blue lights cast shadows on the dance floor, and water shone like moonlight.

“Wow, look at that!” exclaimed Fred, and Harry saw a group of girls ascending the fountain steps. They were all barefoot, and their skimpy clothing had little coins sewn all over, which jingled at every step and sway of their hips.

“Belly dancers,” explained Bill. “It’s a show for the guests, in most hotels it happens at least twice a week. A word of caution, though; here, men and women don’t usually dance together. They understand if foreigners do it, but don’t try to dance with the girls unless you are invited. The last thing we need is some girl’s father demanding one of you to marry her for taking away her honor. Alright?”

Harry flushed, even if he thought Bill’s words weren’t really meant for him. The Twins’ eyes were wide and Charlie was coughing. Poor guy was eating and something must have lodged in his throat.

“Oh really, William! Of course they will behave themselves, they have _some_ manners. Don’t you boys?” threatened Mrs. Weasley.

“Yes, remember, children. We don’t have any camels to pay for the bride,” chortled Mr. Weasley, then ducked when his wife swatted at him playfully.

The dance soon turned hypnotic, their moves passing from fluid to sudden and forceful, and back again. The leading girl was the most impressive, dressed in bright red and gold, her hair midnight black. She incorporated magic into her dance, and every time her leg touched the floor, a golden light burst under her soles. Her fingertips traced golden patterns into the air, where they slowly faded away.

The hour was late when they all made their way to their rooms, and Harry couldn’t do much more than fall into bed and sleep.

* * *

 

 

At the start, Harry thought he would spend most of his time with Ron, but it soon became apparent that the Twins took up most of Ron’s attention. As the second youngest sons, they spent almost every moment teasing and pranking Ron, because Percy was a bad sport, and Charlie and Bill were out of their league. Ginevra was off limits for anything more that the gentles ribbing. Harry wasn’t sure if that was because she was a girl, or the consequence of her disastrous first year at Hogwarts. Harry leaned towards the latter.

So Harry spent the most time with Ginevra and Bill, the youngest and oldest of the bunch. Bill hovered, concerned, over his sister and she seemed to like the attention. She also asked him all sorts of questions, about Egypt, their magic, Bill’s job. Harry never learned so much practical knowledge about the magical world at one time. School was in turns boring and overwhelming, but this was nice. It helped that Bill was a good teacher and Ginevra knew just the sort of questions to ask.

“So there is still a pharaoh ruling Egypt? Do they have the ministry?” asked Ginevra.

“Yes, pharaoh Imhotep is still the ruler of magical Egypt. He inherited the throne at seventeen, and has ruled successfully for eleven years. He is a good pharaoh, if a little old fashioned.”

At their questioning gazes he elaborated, “ he believes in complete separation of magical and non-magical Egypt. His predecessor, his uncle pharaoh Kalitoph, almost completely merged his kingdom with muggle Egypt, but the nephew takes after his late father. Before his rule, the ancient temples were all ruins, attractions for muggle tourists, and the two that weren’t, were almost empty. Now, new temples are being built and there is talk of reclaiming the temple of Luxor, to flush out the muggles and making them forget it existed. It’s quite a controversial topic and the muggle government quite dislikes him, but most people here hail him as a god.”

“Why would they take the ruins from muggles? Don’t they belong to them? And wouldn’t people notice?” asked Harry, baffled.

“Belong to them? If anything, it belongs to people long dead. But these were magical temples, run by magicians, by us. Muggles have no claim over them, just so they can gawk at our legacy,” Ginevra demanded firmly. Harry never saw her like this, she sounded strangely upset.

“Gin, calm down. You were raised by muggles, weren’t you, Harry? It’s probably a learned behaviour to sympathise with their side. I thought just like you, once. You might have noticed that Dad is very pro-muggle. But ever since i started working here, I realised how many concessions we made to avoid conflict with muggle Governments.

“During a war almost a century ago, which sprang up after the death of a pharaoh without heirs, Magical Egypt was almost completely destroyed and its people assimilated by muggles. Most nobility that stayed neutral in the war, ran to other countries. The Kingdom of Egypt lost everything, but under the new king, pharaoh Imhotep, they are trying to regain their pride as one of the most powerful empires on Earth. Sadly, their traditions and holy places came to be a public spectacle, and getting them back means muggle Government will lose a lot of income muggle tourists brought to it.

“It is a hard and complicated decision to make, but I personally stand with the pharaoh. Your stances and decisions will always be yours to make, Harry, but it’s good to be informed on the pros and cons of both sides of the issue. Or all three, or four, which is even more common,” Bill laughed at the end.

Harry was left speechless. All he knew about the politics was what Uncle Vernon jelled when watching the telly or reading the news. Neither of which was Harry allowed too close to. When he told that to Bill and Ginevra, she visibly didn’t approve, but her brother just nodded.

“Mum mostly wanted to keep the politics and Dad’s job out of the house, said it wasn’t for the children’s ears to hear. I mostly agree, but I was at a disadvantage when searching for a job. Gringotts likes their employees aware of political situations in countries they do business with. There were others that were kept aware of political topics by their parents since they were children. I was just lucky I’m really good at my job.”

Ginevra was nodding, but at the same time she was peering at her brother worriedly.

“I’m alright, Gin-Gin. I’m much too likable to get fired. Relax.” He winked.

* * *

 

The next few days passed on a flurry of activities. They Oohed and Awwed at the pyramids of Giza and the mighty Sphinx. They even stepped inside the Sphinx to take a look at the third largest sphinx hospital/sanctuary in Egypt. The space inside was magically enlarged, according to the guide, and designed with sphinx’ comfort in mind. Harry saw large stone pens standing among the sand dunes, and five of them contained a large prowling lion with a human head. It was a fierce creature, proud and elegant. The Giza Sphinx Sanctuary served mostly as a hospital or a middle point if any sphinx needed relocation from populated areas to one of the magical wildlife reserves.

Charlie was over the moon and quickly engaged their guide into a fast paced conversation about fire and heat loving magical creatures.

“Can we solve one of their riddles, please? I always wanted to,” asked Percy, tethering somewhere between pompous and polite.

“No, I’m sorry,” answered one of the guides tending to the pens, gently, but firmly. “They get agitated if they pose you a riddle, it rouses their instinct to protect. They only calm down if we solve their riddle, but as good as we are, there is a possibility we wouldn’t manage. We can’t get them to calm down after that and have to bring in reinforcements. Riddle crackers, that is.” Percy reddened at that, but agreed to better not risk it.

One night they visited the Egyptian Museum. During the day it accepted only muggles, but at night it opened its doors to magic. Walking among history, Harry felt goosebumps all over his skin. So many magical artifacts quite literally pulsed with magic, he felt lightheaded.

“Are you alright?” asked Ginevra, concerned.

He was still gazing in the dark eyes of the Tutankhamun’s burial mask, long after the others moved on to other exhibits. It felt like looking into a live person’s face. He could swear its eyes were tracking his movements.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, voice hushed.

When he didn’t get an answer, he finally dragged his gaze from the mask to her. Ginevra was watching him, face devoid of clues. He fidgeted.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I figured you would too. We are somewhat similar, you and I. We both had a brush with death caused by powerful magics. _Of course_ we would be sensitive to such forces, magical accidents involving life and soul usually leave a mark.”

Harry couldn’t help but reach for his scar, rubbing it self consciously. He hated it when people stared at his scar.

“What’s yours, then?” he snapped before he could help himself. He felt bad right after. Ginevra has suffered enough, there was really no need to remind her of it. Before he could apologise, she leaned towards him until their faces almost touched.

“Can you keep a secret?” she whispered, her face intent, “Can I trust you?”

“Yes.” Because he would never betray his friends, because he knew secrets are important.

“My eyes, look at them. Whose eyes are they? Who do you see?”

They were dark, so dark they were almost black. There was something about them, a gleam, knowledge that should be beyond them, _magic_. He didn’t remember Ginevra’s eyes from before, but these couldn’t be her eyes. They couldn’t be the eyes of a little girl. Harry had seen these eyes before, on a boy he spoke to, who showed him his memories, who Harry thought was his ally up until the boy tried to kill him. _Tom Riddle’s eyes_. But they felt like Ginevras eyes, even though Harry couldn’t explain why.

“I don’t understand. How could you…”

“I told you, he left a mark. It’s not a scar, like yours, but he left an imprint of himself on me. There is nothing anyone can do about it. I know my family noticed, but they don’t know these were _his_ eyes, and I would rather you don’t tell them. They worry enough as it is. But see? We are quite similar.”

He dropped his gaze, having to look away, to think. He turned towards the Tutankhamun’s mask again, glittering where the light hit it.

“Come on, Harry. Best not to stay here too long, ancient magic can make you a little loopy.” She slowly reached for his hand, telegraphing her movements. The contact sent a tingle up his hand, almost as if he grasped a wand, instead of a person’s hand.

Harry let her pull him along, towards the sounds of her family. He couldn’t stop staring at her, however. He never _could_ let the mystery lie.


End file.
